The Skooma Cat
by Electric Esher
Summary: Kyorwulf, a Nord bandit from Skyrim has his fate take a turn for better or for worse, when his life intertwines with a notorious Khajiit Skooma drug lord from the far south.


The Skooma Cat

Chapter I: Bad Blood

Three Winterhold mages trudged through the dense snow banks that now swallowed the cobbled road back to the college. They had been conducting field research in a newly discovered Nordic ruin, revealed from a cave in, much to the chagrin of the locals. Jarl Korir of Winterhold had especially opposed this new excavation, but as usual it was waved by the college, and the mages went on with the excavation.

However, on the third day of the dig, the weather had turned for the worse, and a fierce blizzard began to blow through, thick enough to cut like butter. Now practically blind in the fresh icy snow, the mages left the dig behind, and gauged the direction back to Winterhold. Even having considered staying at the dig until the storm went over, they decided to risk it, and make way for home.

As they made their way up a steep ravine, one mage said to the other, just loud enough to hear over the howling winds, "Keep your guard up, we're in bad spot here, be ready for anything." The other mage nodded, and kept wards at the ready, well aware of the treacheries of these jagged hills, but not nearly as worried as his peer, for even the native creatures such as wolves and bears couldn't see in a blizzard like this.

Unfortunately, fate was not kind to them that day. Less than seven meters away, hidden in the snow smothered heath, unfamiliar bows were at the ready.

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"Here they come." whispered Kyorwulf.

"When they pass in front." Said Havnor.

Kyorwulf peered through the bushes, and monitored the dark shimmering silhouettes of the three mages they had tracked down.

Kyorwulf glanced at Havnor, poised intensely, masterfully aiming the bow. Kyorwulf had been a bandit as long as he could remember, and took pride in his combat prowess, if not the dishonor of being a bandit. However, Havnor was much younger than he was, and already made archery his second nature. Kyorwulf had met Havnor only in the last year, and though he knew little about him, Havnor had already become the most valuable field man in Kyorwulf's band.

"Ready. Three… two…" whispered Havnor.

Kyorwulf raised and made the bow taught.

"Now!" said Havnor.

A loud twang was heard, and suddenly, two of the mages fell to the ground.

The unhurt mage jumped in shock. Abandoning the bodies of his friends, fear took over, and he began to run feebly up the hill against the soft snow, lungs breathing heavily.

Kyorwulf unsheathed his sword, and leapt from the bushes into the open. And before the mage could even make a move, Kyorwulf slashed open the mage's neck in one fell swing, leaving it hanging like an old rag doll.

Kyorwulf sheathed the bloody blade, and watched the mages' blood stain the snow, then disappear under the freshly fallen flurry. Kyorwulf disliked killing, but didn't mind it. It brought coin.

"Great kill! Cleanest I've seen all month!" said Havnor, stepping out of the snow cover, bow in hand.

"Yeah." said Kyorwulf, wiping his brow. "Check the bodies."

A sharp, shattering sound broke through the white noise of the blizzard. It was a badly aimed ice spike, coming from behind Kyorwulf and Havnor.

Havnor laughed, "Boss, look! The one you shot is still alive! I knew your aim was off, could tell it even before you fired!"

The mage on the ground was sobbing in pain and holding the hand of his dead peer. Shaking from anger and pain, the wounded mage fired another ice spike, this time at Havnor.

Havnor didn't even move out of the way, as the badly aimed ice spike plunged into the snowbank.

Havnor snickered, then shrugged. "Boss, care to take this one?"

"Aye." Said Kyorwulf expressionless.

Kyorwulf unsheathed his bloody blade yet again, then staring at the dying, sobbing mage straight in the eyes, drove the steel of the blade through the mages heart. In a final gasp, the mages' body went limp.

"Now what did you do that for boss?" said Havnor.

"Did what?" said Kyorwulf.

"Cut through the robes like that! Now there's a hole in them, and they've gotten all bloody! Now its worth no coin at all."

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"Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty. Even." Said Havnor.

"Damn it. After all that waiting, this is it? You would think those mages would carry something valuable. Not these useless research notes. Fifty gold will only get us all another few days food." said Kyorwulf.

Havnor tossed the mage's belongings into a small crate in the corner of the cave.

"We need another proper supply caravan, like that Stormcloak one two months ago." Said Kyorwulf. "If we don't get another good hit soon, we will be forced to make drastic choices."

Havnor tossed torn bits of the mage's robes into the fire. "I wonder how everyone else is doing..." He said, less than confidently.

Kyorwulf nodded sagely. For six years now, he had been the leader of a small bandit band in Winterhold Hold, based out of a cramped, but well hidden cave deep in the mountains west of Winterhold.

Kyorwulf's band consisted of only five others besides, Havnor and himself, making their whole numbers only seven. At one point, the band had nine, but bounty hunters hired by Jarl Korir had hunted two of his men down for thievery. Who were then made an example of, and executed in front of the Jarl's longhouse. Ever since, it seemed that kyorwulf's band's luck was on the bad side of things. Kyorwulf had sent his other men south, to try their luck in The Pale. They hadn't been back in over two weeks. They were supposed to be back in a week.

Kyorwulf sat on a stone in the cave, and gnawed at a tasteless dried beef ration stolen off a couple of wayward pilgrims. The fire lit and flickered across Kyorwulf's tired face. He was a proper Nord in most every way, except perhaps, the absence of warrior's honor despite his fighting skill. All he had known was thievery and ransacking. Kyorwulf had black hair, with pre-mature silvery grey streaks in his hair and beard, not unlike a skunk. But that was as far as the resemblance went.

Kyorwulf listened to the crackling of the fire, and the lonely howling winds outside in the night. He looked over at Havnor, and thought of how even though he was the best person he ever had in his service, and a Nord at that, he knew very little of Havnor's past. That was, besides meeting Havnor's need for a way to live, and now he was working for Kyorwulf. It didn't matter though. All bandits, Kyorwulf thought, must have something to hide, otherwise they wouldn't be out like this. After all, Havnor's archery skills and faithfullness made up for any doubts.

Havnor took a stick and shifted the embers of the dying fire that lit the gloomy cave. "They aren't coming back aren't they?"

Kyorwulf was taken off guard by this question, and shifted his sitting position. "…Now why do you think that?"

"Kyorwulf… isn't it obvious? We haven't had a good haul in a long time… and no one comes around this… forsaken corner of the world… and our band was too small to really make any big hauls… face it…" said Havnor.

Kyorwulf gave Havnor an icy glare.

Havnor swallowed and said, "The band has broken up… and they aren't coming back."

Kyorwulf paused and stared down his tankard at his stale mead. The same old damn stale mead, he thought, the best thing in the world, mead… his was always stale and weak. Not worthy of feeding to pigs. He hadn't had a real meal in many days. He could feel the void in his stomach.

"You stood up to me Havnor…" Said Kyorwulf. "That means something."

Havnor breathed relief. "Boss…"

Kyorwulf looked away. "Havnor… you've been a good friend for the short time I've known you… I can't say that for many folks. You may go."

Havnor nodded slightly. "Thank you… I suppose I'll go… but… will you be okay alo-"

Kyorwulf raised his hand and stopped him. "Just go."

Havnor nodded once more, and reached behind a rock, and grabbed his pack where it lay. Kyorwulf winced, as he noticed it had already been fully packed.

Havnor headed to the wool curtain that covered to entrance of the cave, and looked back. "Goodbye Kyorwulf. It's… been an honor."

Havnor let the curtain fall, and headed out into the night, leaving Kyorwulf alone in the cave with the fading fire, with only the sound of howling winds to accompany him.

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But then, to his surprise, only moments later, Havnor ran back into the cave, looking as pale as a ghost.

Kyorwulf's brow furrowed, confused, "Whats wrong?" Havnor ignored Kyorwulf completely, and ran to the back of the cave and grabbed Kyorwulf's longbow.

"Quick… quick… ready your arrow!" Havnor whispered with the sound of sheer terror rattling from his throat, all the while desperately shoving Kyorwulf's bow in to his hands. Kyorwulf shook his head, "Not unless you tell me whats going on! Why are you so…" but Kyorwulf was interrupted.

Havnor had covered Kyorwulf's mouth with his hand. "For the love of Talos roady your weapon! Anything! Please!"

Kyorwulf glared angrily, "Just tell me wha-"

Kyorwulf paused. The constant sound of the wind outside had quieted. There was something blocking the wind on the other side of the wool curtain. A jagged silhoutte appeared made by the dying fire cast an eerie shadow of a figure standing just behind the cloth. Kyorwulf felt a shiver, and glanced at Havnor. Never had he seen his right hand man so full of fear.

The figure pushed aside the curtain with its left hand, walked in, and stood in front of the fire. Kyorwulf took him all in. There stood a tall male Khajiit with the angriest expression Kyorwulf thought a living thing could make. The Khajiit had red-orange fur, something between dried blood and rusty metal He wore robes of violent crimson, with golden embroidery and metal plates decorating his torso. But most startling of all, was the many golden piercings on the Khajiit's tall, elongated ears, and one single golden torc through the Khajiit's nose, like a bull.

Havnor seemed to have forgotten his bow completely. Kyorwulf could see Havnor's legs were visibly trembling. The Khajiit stood in front of the two for what seemed an eternity, but then, he spoke.

"Havnor… or should this Khajiit say … 'Venach'… I forget which name you use these days…" the Khajiit said with a cruel smile. "How sad of you… after all those years of power, this is where you end up. Some hole, in this dead, icy, wasteland." The Khajiit leaned over Havnor. "But dying out here of the cold… this Khajiit thinks that would be too nice a death… eh?'

Havnor was now a trembling wreck. "Dar'zekk… please… I…"

Dar'zekk stood back up. "You know you have nothing left to offer to this Khajiiti. But I must say, you put enough of a dent on my reputation, to make me hunt you down personally eh? That's an impressive honor in itself. I usually never hunt down you rats myself." Dar'zekk rolled back his left sleeve. "I think its time to end this whole… what was that phrase… 'Wild goose chase'." Dar'zekk suddenly created a twisting ball of magic fire out of his left hand, and then reached for Havnor's face.

"Goodbye 'Havnor'… you thorn in my side."

Dar'zekk violently grabbed Havnor's face by the jaw, singeing Havnor's lips as Dar'zekk placed the fireball inside Havnor's mouth. Havnor, for only a brief moment writhed in pain, before Dar'zekk let the fireball loose, and Havnor's head imploded as his skull was gutted, leaving his jaw hanging open wide, with blackened flesh framing Havnor's mouth, nostrils, and eye sockets, the latter being no longer home to eyes. Havnor's lifeless body was dropeed onto the floor. Dar'zekk stretched his arms out wide, and breathed out a sigh of relief, like a burden had been lifted.

Kyorwulf had watched the scene unfold in complete horror, never had he seen this kind of brutality before. Of the few Khajiits he had seen before, he had joined his friends in calling them "milk-drinkers". But this Khajiit was a monster.

Kyorwulf's thoughts were broken as Dar'zekk turned his piercing yellow eyes to him. Kyorwulf didn't dare move.

"I didn't think Venach… or as I assume you knew him, Havnor… would have had accomplices. He liked to work alone." Said Dar'zekk. "But what to do with you?"

Dar'zekk turned toward the curtain and yelled, "Jo'venn! Eshek! Ja'raja! It's all clear. The deed has been done!" he said with a smile.

Three more Khajiit walked into the already cramped cave.

One had dark blue robes, with a hood so long it's face could not be seen. The second had steel studded hide armor, a sword, and short, striped brown fur, much like a mercenary. But the last one, the one Dar'zekk called "Eshek" was undoubtedly the most terrifying. The enormous muscular Khajiit stood twice as tall as the others, and had to crouch to fit in the cave. That thing was bigger than a bear on it's hind legs, Kyorwulf thought.

Dar'zekk looked to the one in the armor. "Ja'raja, clear this place of any valuables. We won't be coming back." The brown Khajiit nodded at Dar'zekk and began to pick through Kyorwulf's crates. Then, wordlessly, Dar'zekk nodded at the huge Khajiit, Eshek, then Dar'zekk proceeded to walk out of the cave whistling.

Kyorwulf looked up the huge Khajiit, then out of the left corner of his vision, he saw the blur of some object swing at his head, a thud sound, then Kyorwulf's mind went blank. Darkness.

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End of Chapter I


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